


A Queen's Crush

by archmaestergilly



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Post-Season/Series 06, let's get jonsa count to 3k!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 11:38:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12058218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archmaestergilly/pseuds/archmaestergilly
Summary: She remembers the first time she saw him: dark and strong covered in his Northern furs. A Valyrian longsword on his hip, the white beast on his left, its demeanor was calm but the red eyes scanned his surrounding with distrust. He looked at her solemmnly, and she wondered then if he takes his burden as King so heavilly.





	A Queen's Crush

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on my old tumblr (which has since gotten deleted) as a fill to a prompt. Finally decided to put this here to help Jonsa fics count reach 3k. I don't write much, so this is probably trash anyway.
> 
> I wrote this after season 6 so it doesn't follow D&D's story. Told from Dany's POV, but the story isn't about her. I decided against tagging her character since I'm hoping there won't be any jonerys/daenerys stan reading this drabble. Although it's nothing sinister, I just want to avoid drama when there's no need.

These days it's all she thinks of.

 

Or rather, he is.

 

She remembers the first time she saw him: dark and strong covered in his Northern furs. A Valyrian longsword on his hip, the white beast on his left, its demeanor was calm but the red eyes scanned his surrounding with distrust. He looked at her solemnly, and she wondered then if he takes his burden as King so heavily.

 

Her Hand greeted the King in the North with a smirk on his face, extending his hand as if he was meeting with an old friend. To her surprise, Jon has taken Tyrion's greeting respectively, and promptly thanked the Lannister for his kindness. Daenerys has looked at her Hand then, but he dismissed her asking glance with an apologetic smile. Their introduction was formal: Missandei announced her many titles serenely, which he took with a nod and simple, “My Lady.” She had expected him to kiss the back of her hand like the other lords, but he did none of that and she finds herself with a pang of disappointment.

 

That night, as Great Hall of King's Landing was filled with loud singing of the feast, Daenerys couldn't help but scrutinizing Jon Snow. They said he is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, but she found no fire in him. His whole body screams of the North, and the winter it carries with. She kept hoping to find even just a slight of the Old Valyria blood in him—a speck of violet in his grey eyes, but all she sees is a brooding man, with his dark curls and pale skin, and she doesn't know why she was so intrigued.

 

The next morning, before the discussion of their alliance starts, Daenerys invites Jon to see her dragons. His companion, an old man named Ser Davos Seaworth, looks at him warily, but Jon merely states that if they were to trust each other, they have to start doing it. So he offers her his arm, which she takes almost giddily, and she leads him to where her children were resting, his massive wolf following not so far behind.

 

When they reach the Dragon's Pit, the direwolf begins to snarl and growl beside him, and for a moment she's afraid dragons and wolf will fight each other. But he puts his hand on the wolf's fur, murmuring soft whispers to calm it, and she's amazed at how easily he controls the beast.

She takes him closer to her dragons. “Go on,” she says, encouragingly, “They won't hurt you.”

 

 _If you are truly a dragon_ , she adds to herself.

 

He approaches Rhaegal, who's closest, with hesitation. Rhaegal turns her head to inspect him, as if deciding whether he's food or not. He takes another step closer, his burnt hand extends towards the green dragon, and she holds her breath.

 

 _Please let him be a true dragon_.

 

Her relief is palpable when Rhaegal touches her scaly snout to his palm. He looks surprised as he turns his eyes to her in disbelief, seeking her approval. She smiles again, making an encouraging gesture, and he scratch Rhaegal's jaw just like he did with his wolf.

 

Meeting went smoothly then. New alliance formed, and in a few moon's turn they will be ready to face the real enemy. When she bids him goodbye, she can't help but wanting time to go faster, so she could see him again.

 

* * *

 

She rides Drogon to Winterfell with Tyrion the moment she received his letter, her army marches not far behind. The closer she gets to the castle, the faster her heart is beating. She dismisses it as adrenaline rush from flying, but deep down she knows it's all him.

 

She has scolded herself for being a teenage girl—she is Queen, after all. But Missandei looks at her knowingly, and said something about how she deserves happiness above all else. She wonders if it is true, if she would be happy with him. No other man has made her truly happy after Drogo's death, but then again no other man has made her feel like this, not even Drogo when they first met.

 

Jon stands on the courtyard to receive them, as she and Tyrion jump from Drogon's back before the dragon flies to perch himself on one of the towers. Her eyes find him quickly, and had she not been Queen she would have quicken her pace to greet him. Yet she is Queen, so she waited until his party approaches hers.

 

Introductions are made again as she saw the Stark sisters for the first time. The elder one, Sansa, has an air of winter within her gaze as she curtsied perfectly to the Queen, and the younger one looks so fierce with a thin sword on her hip, her looks resembled Jon so. Daenerys knows immediately which one she likes better.

 

She has wanted to spend some time with Jon, to get to know her only kin, but realizes that this is time of war, and both of them can not afford to be distracted. Still, she can't help but watching his every move as they prepare for the long march north.

 

She watches as he instructs his men, and hers, on how to use the dragonglass. She watches as he convinces her Unsullied and Dothrakis that they too need to wear the furs, lest the cold will kill them first. She watches as he handles fights between the Wildling and the Northmen, and she sees how, despite their difference, they all seem to follow him, even admire him. She watches and marvels at how gentle he is with his cousins, how he practices swordplay with Arya even though it’s not ladylike, how he wheels Bran Stark around the ground as he listens to his stories, how he talks gently to Sansa during their daily visits to the godswood. But her most favorite thing to watch is him and Rhaegal bonding, the beast seem to take a liking to him (Rhaegal now prefers to ride with Jon to Daenerys, but she isn't complaining—a dragon needs three head after all), and even Ghost is calm around Rhaegal. She sees how Jon was able to unite dragon and wolf, fire and ice, under his command.

 

So when the war finally comes, she is beyond grateful that Jon is leading them. She has lead wars herself, of course, but not like this. Never like this. The Dead are nowhere near her wildest imagination, they keep rising and rising and even though she has fire, the numbers are too many. It was Jon who jumps from Rhaegal's back, instructing her to keep spitting fires, while he leads their men from below.

 

She watches again as he destroyed wights after wights with Longclaw. She watches as he chases after the Night King. Her breath frozen as she wills herself to keep doing what he has asked: to burn all of them. So she busies herself with that task to at least give him a chance to get to the Others. And when he finally does, again she watches as he fights the cold monster, one on one, and she prays to whatever gods that they'd win, that he'd win, although she never prays before.

 

They win. And then she watches as he stupidly, selflessly, takes back the wounded on Rhaegal's back himself, so that they can be tended immediately, although she sees the way he winces from his own injuries.

* * *

 

 

She doesn't want to leave Winterfell, doesn't want to leave him while he hasn't healed, but she needs to go back to her Kingdom. Tyrion recognizes her restlessness all the way back to King's Landing, and when he asks her what is wrong with her, she confesses to him. He smiles then, a strange look on his eyes, but he doesn't give her any counsel.

 

The next day, it is Varys who reminds her that she is the Queen of Westeros, that all she needs to do is give the offer. No man will be foolish enough to reject her proposal. Tyrion says something then, but amongst the prospect of being with Jon she doesn't fully register what her Hand has said. Something about Jon being no other man?

 

After a few weeks, she and Tyrion are once again on Drogon's back to Winterfell. Rhaegal flies ahead of them, eager to meet her favorite rider. Daenerys has prepared to give Jon the she-dragon as gift for their marriage.

 

Jon is surprised to receive them, for she does not send a raven ahead, but a feast is soon being prepared for her. Daenerys insists that they don't have to, and she wants to talk immediately, but Tyrion puts his hand on her elbow, and states that they are too tired and she needs to rest first.

 

“Nothing good ever comes from hastiness,” he reminds her later that night, and he tells her to sleep.

 

But Daenerys knows she won't be able to sleep, so she decides to take a stroll to calm her mind. As she walks through the shadows, she sees two figures coming from the godswood, lead by a white direwolf. She'd know that figure every where, for she has watched the very same figure almost everyday for the past year. The moon shines bright enough to light Jon's face, and she is taken aback when she sees him laughing. Actually laughing.

 

She has never seen him laugh before. He smiles, sometimes, more often when he's with his cousins, or his wolf, or even Rhaegal. But she has never seen him laugh freely like this. A flash of red shines in the moonlight, and her stomach knots when she sees Sansa Stark linking her arm through his, a smile dances in her eyes. This too discomforts Daenerys, for she has never seen the Winterfell's daughter smile genuinely, never seen warmth inside those blue eyes.

 

Daenerys can hear the two cousins talk while they reach the courtyard, though she can not hear what was said. Suddenly they stop in their tracks, anguish paints Sansa's face as she forces Jon to look squarely at her. Jon raises his hand to cup her cheek, murmuring softly as he pulls her face closer and touches his forehead to hers.

 

Daenerys wants to flee, to run back to her guest chambers because she doesn't want to see this. She doesn't want to see Jon embracing another woman in his arms, doesn't want to see him brushing his lips to another woman's. But she's rooted to her place. She doesn't exactly move, not until the couple are gone and she feels Tyrion's hand on hers. She looks down at him then.

 

“You knew,” she says, her voice betrays no accusations.

 

“I did,” her Hand answers, matter-of-factly.

 

“But you didn't warn me about it.”

 

“You wouldn't have believed me then.”

 

She doesn't know what to say. But it clicks then, the strange look he gave her when she told him of her crush, his jab that Jon is no other man: he is foolish enough to reject her.

 

“I saw the way you looked at him, Dany. You wouldn't have believed me if I told you he's in love with another.”

 

She can hear pity in his voice. And suddenly she feels like an idiot. She was blinded by her own feelings that she didn’t notice Jon's.

 

“What am I going to do, Tyrion?” she asks. She hates feeling helpless, yet at the moment she can't think of a simple answer.

 

“A dragon needs three heads, remember?” Tyrion says.

 

She waits for him to continue.

 

“Now there are only two. And if the curse were true, you wouldn't be able to have the third.”

 

She knows where this is going.

 

“If Jon marries Sansa...”

 

“His children will be Targaryen. They will be my heir,” she finishes before Tyrion speaks again.

 

“Of course, Your Grace.”

 

There's no longer pity in Tyrion's eyes as Daenerys blinks back the tears in hers, determination set in her jaws. She knows now that even though she won't have Jon, she will have an heir. She may not have everything she wants, but she will have everything she needs.

* * *

 


End file.
